All in a day's work

In a press release, describing a Valentine's day dinner promotion.

"The romantic interlude is made even sweeter with each couple receiving a devouring chocolate fudge cake with their initials on it."

Devouring?!

Good Lord, someone needs to learn proper adjectives.

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Edit: At 11-ish pm.

I get this really unhealthy urge to want to CRUSH people sometimes.

Or just shove them out of my way.


(Aggressive behaviour demonstrated is possibly the effect of having watched Sweeney Todd a couple of hours back.)

The sky is dark at 7am

I know this because I am awake at 7am.

Have STUPID Batu Caves assignment, need to go cover for colour story.

No idea how to get there. Gotta take a train somewhere and a bus or something. And for some reason it's really dark outside still.

At 7am.

World not happy. I not happy.

Must be because Heath Ledger died.

Revelation

I've always thought I could be extraordinary, as long as I put my heart in it.

Work hard, think on my toes, be nice to people, take opportunities that come by because there's no such thing as luck, only chances.

I thought it'd kick in, eventually, you know. Extraordinariness.

I didn't have a specific idea of what kind of extraordinary I wanted to be; no special target.

While some argue that I'm doing okay at what I'm doing right now - and I agree, okay is not what I thought I would be.

I don't want to be one of the pack, the average Joe. And seeing people who are younger than me, doing better than me, hurts somewhere.

And this is when I feel the bite of age. Yes, I'm only turning 26, but they're only 21. At 21, I was frolicking in college while these 21s are traipsing all over the world, earning figures that are triple mine.

I don't think that that's necessarily success, but it should at least be that you excel at what you do, and I feel like I'm just going through the motions. If this is what excellence feels like, well, it ain't that great.

Which brings me to today, which I fear is all I'm ever going to be.

out in the street, handing tickets out for God

You know, when I see some ridiculously stupid people do incredibly inane things, it makes me feel like God, or Whoever the hell is in charge is saying "I'm Sorry, What Was That? I Wasn't Paying Attention."

Junkie

Breakfast
1 Teh O Peng (Iced tea)
1 Gu Iu Pao (Milk Bun)
1 Panadol Actifast

Lunch
1 Oven Baked Butter Cod
1 Lemonade
2 Panadol Actifast

Tea
1 normal Panadol
1 Ponstan (contains 500mg mefenamic acid - whatever that is)

Dinner
1 light ham sandwich
1 packet of Dutch Lady chocolate milk
1 Ponstan

And the crummy thing is, it STILL hurts.

you got a fast car, i want a ticket to anywhere

It's funny how your plans change when someone comes into your life.

The plan was to finish off here, scarper to some foreign country where people won't point at me and laugh too hard and do the corporate ladder thing and hopefully earn just enough to get by on food and Transformers/video-games/books.

Funny how all the things that you used to want suddenly don't seem to be as important when someone decides that putting up with you could be something that they'd like to do for the conceivable future.

Because all of a sudden 'just enough' isn't quite enough anymore. And since I've always been a 'just enough' sort of fellow, the last few months have been confusingly interesting. There's this odd motivation that's there and it wasn't there before and I'm not sure I like it. Hard work and consistent concentration is not my thing. Not by a long-shot. But nowadays, I'm compelled to be... better. All because all of a sudden 'just enough' isn't quite enough anymore.

I just wish it didn't didn't take so much effort. But you can't help what you're compelled to do, I guess. Off we go.

The mark of wisdom

At age 26 (turning it in another three months), I thought I was way past the age of getting it.

Safe, you know?

Ladies and gentleman, this woman is growing a wisdom tooth in the backyard of her jaw.

Right side, upper.

My teeth (yes, all of them) are throbbing like they're in some techno-fengtao place.

God, make this easy.

*Arms self with panadol, cold apple juice and plenty of ice cream*

braaaains

Sixth night of insomnia. No sleep.

Kim looks incredibly cute wrapped up in our humongous new comforter.

I would post pictures but... I am decidedly fond of my testicles and to be separated from them would upset me immensely.

And my parents would not be incredibly thrilled either.

underdog,... UNDERDOG!

While I don't regret being in this relationship, I do wonder if I would be more stable if I wasn't in one.

I don't usually break down like that.

------------------

Watched this last night while waiting for McDonalds' to deliver my supper of Country Grilled Chicken burger. Didn't taste as good as I remembered it so probably won't be having it again. I think.

I wasn't expecting anything AMAZING. It's from Disney (funny how I now associate 'less-than-amazing with the company) who have mucked up plenty of potentially good movies (Brother Bear, Home on the Range) for the sake of making a quick buck.

And true to my expectations, the movie had a beginning and an end, but no middle. It went from poor dog gets chemically drenched and obtained superpowers and finds a home, to poor dog saves the day really quick. No time for you to feel sorry for the damn thing.

CG not amazing but passable I guess on most scenes.

Gorgeous beagle.

Glimpses of good humour here and there, though nothing you would LOL about.

Even the comedy cast (Jim Belushi - According to Jim, Patrick Wharburton - voice of Kronk in The Emperor's New Groove and Superman in Jerry Seinfeld's ads, and plays anchorman on Almost Perfect) could save such a poorly paced show.

Kids would like it though, I mean, a talking dog? That's an eye-catcher any day.

Was cute, all in all, but thankfully I didn't have to pay money for it else I'd throw a hissy fit.

But watch it for the beagle!

How was that for a review?

My version of resolutions

I bought this because it was cheap (RM20) but have no idea what it's for.

Anyone willing to give this girl a make-up 101?

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This year is going to be a very trying one for me especially in that area called work.

I love the job but every day, I find new things that I get frustrated about; editors, marketing folk, pagination lady and the system.

It is hard not to get annoyed because these things/ people get in my way of being passionate. In order for me to do something well, I have to take it personal, and their getting in the way of my doing that something well, very personal as well.

This is where I think I need to take a step back and just breathe.

Look at it from a wider perspective.

Disassociate.



I pray that I have Lulu's* patience and not get pissed about all things related to work. Spring a project on me that they want completed in a week when I have other things to do? Near impossible? Never mind. Smile. Just do it. It's only work. It's only work.

I will learn from Pete*, the man across the table, how to get along with the people who help sell the paper, and hopefully, sell your section. Even if they're stupid, incompetent, simply cannot make it - it's okay. As long as you get to go home happy at the end of the day with a paycheck, that's good enough.

Ladyboss*, who got bullied for forever by other bosses and worked til late practically every day of every night while the rest went home by 8pm. I will remind myself that hard work is not always lost. It is rewarded with a better offer elsewhere.

This might be the hardest of all, but I hope to be like Femboss* and be able to scare people so much that they don't try to bully me as they do now. No more bullshit, no more excuses. I will STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP on them and I hope they all die.

.
.
.

I need to get out of here.

this is going to be long, my hate demands it to be so

We have a housemate. In the interest of privacy and all that fucking bullshit, let's call her Goddamned Stupid Fucking Drama Bitchasaurus for short.

Now, Goddamned Stupid Fucking Drama Bitchasaurus lives in the medium sized room in this apartment while the head tenant, who's really nice, lives in the small room.

When Kim and I first moved into this place, it was pretty nice-going and all. We were cordial, if distant from our housemates and everything was hunky-dory. It has to be said that I have never really liked Goddamned Stupid Fucking Drama Bitchasaurus from the very beginning because it's just one of those situations where I see a person and I feel like slapping them repeatedly with a day-old trout that's been exposed to the sun and humidity and has fucking mushrooms and large fleshy maggots all over it. But that's irrational, and I react that way to certain people sometimes, it cannot be helped that they're born with faces like that.

Time passes by. Goddamned Stupid Fucking Drama Bitchasaurus starts to justify my dislike for her. She starts talking on her cell-phone in the living room when people are around at maximum volume. As if she wants people to hear what she's saying. And she's talking about shit like how one person at the office likes someone else or some other pointless fucking bullshit going on in her miserable empty life. As if talking about loudly makes it more fucking interesting to the people who don't give a flying rodent's rectum about the whole business. Then she gives advice, loudly, on the phone in a disgustingly superior tone of voice. Yet, the advice she gives is juvenile and pointless. You know, the sort of bullshit people used to tell each other in middle school about what to do if a girl likes you or some hopelessly meaningless piece of pigeon shite like that.

This incredible annoying state of affairs continues for some time and I'm able to bear it for a while because I spend most of my time in the room when I'm at home. Then one day the defecation hits the rotary cooling device. There's a knock on the door. One of those weak-ass irritating knocks that you hear at the edge of your perception. I'm working on something on the computer and am incredibly frustrated as it is so I ignore it. Another knock occurs. Same fucking volume as before. I get up and answer it. I open the door and I see her goddamned face. This has the same effect as somebody stabbing you with a rusty, fungus infected fork after you've been set on fire and a small proboscis monkey has eaten all your hair and small midget is kicking you repeatedly in the groin. It's not that bad, relatively, but it makes matters worse.

I try to make nice and asked what the fuck is going on and she asks me if, get this, I used one of her fucking bowls. Kim and I have 2 whole fucking cabinets full of our own utensils and cutlery. We don't need to use her cheap fucking plastic bowl. It probably makes food taste worse due to exposure to her bitch drama radiation. I go to look at what she's referring to and there's this stupid fucking red bowl with some fucking ginger and peas in it. I tell her I don't eat ginger and that the bowl has been there for a few days. I leave and get back to work.

Then she proceeds to throw a goddamned squealing hissy-fit in the fucking living room. Literally throwing shit around and yelling and slamming cabinet doors. This goes on for a whole hour and a half and it considerably improves my mood because when people I don't like are upset, it makes me one happy fucker.

That evening on our way out, right before we leave the room, we hear her complaining to the head tenant about Kim and I and how we mess up the kitchen all the time. This makes us very pissed because we have NEVER seen her clean the fucking kitchen and we mop it up and wipe it down at least once a week. We have our own fucking trashcan because we cook often and we don't want someone else to throw our rubbish. I mention this because she complains to the head tenant that we have this trashcan because we are 'stuck up'. Fucking bitch-sausage on a whore-stick.

We leave that alone because we really like this place and it turns out that the head tenant doesn't like her as well and doesn't pay attention to Goddamned Stupid Fucking Drama Bitchasaurus anyway.

I lead my life like she doesn't exist and she leaves me the hell alone because I can look like an ornery bastard if I need to.

Then after returning from Christmas hols in Kuching, we see a fucking sign on the kitchen wall. Something about using electronics on the other side of the kitchen. A stupid fucking sign, pointedly directed at Kim and me because we have a steamer and a blender. Guess who put it up?

The fucking useless waste of skin has put up the sign because she doesn't have the testicular fortitude to come and talk to us about it. Fine. If that's the way she wants to play it then this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to use my fucking steamer, slow cooker and whatever electronics I can come up with (I'll charge my phone there tomorrow while she's in so she sees it) wherever the hell I want. I'm going to purposely leave water rings on 'her' end of the kitchen counter. Then I'm going to get my colourful markers and I am going to fucking draw delightful fucking flowers and goddamned smiling bumblebees all over her useless fucking sign just to fucking show her that I fucking read it and have decided to give it the amount of regard that is due to a piece of paper written by a cowardly, snidely, chicken-shit, no-life piece of trash who just happens to know how to scrawl a few words in English.

Bitch.

P.S. There is a guy she tries to get to come over once in a while. She makes the excuse that her computer is broken and she needs some help with it. Every time he's here, he has this miserable look on his face which gets worse when she starts talking. Because she has a voice like a million cats trying to slow their descent down a chalkboard with their claws. On helium. In a steel barrel. It's a big steel barrel and echoes a lot. In Dolby Digital 5.1 surround sound.